


Rubberneck

by persesphone



Category: Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Boys In Love, But it isn't too bad, Declarations Of Love, F/M, Friendship/Love, Girls in Love, Heartache, High School, Light Angst, Love Confessions, Maybe - Freeform, PeterMJ - Freeform, Secret Crush, Spideychelle, has he put off the wrong thing for too long?, peter has a record and reputation of putting things off
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-10
Updated: 2018-02-10
Packaged: 2019-03-16 05:52:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13630002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/persesphone/pseuds/persesphone
Summary: Peter has a problem.His problems consist of intellectuals with frizzy hair and too many frumpy hoodies, who have a bad habit of getting caught up in the moment and spontaneous. It's him giving tight hugs and offering the last bites of his food, the sun-bright smile he gives when she walks in the room, and looking at her with stars in his eyes.Peter's got it bad.Nauseatingly bad.Knocks-him-off-his-feet badwhen he cancels on her and Ned on weekends.Kick-himself-in-the-face badwhen he listens to her rant to him about his continuous bailing, that if he didn't want to hang out with her then to just tell her. And he feels guilty about it, promises that he'll make it up to her. He's got itslap-himself-silly badwhen she suddenly begins cancelling on him and starts texting him less and Peter panics.Twists-his-heartandwrenches-his-gut badwhen he tells that he saw her talking to another guy after school one day right before she reveals that she has a date with that same guy on the day.Peter beats around the bush and is never direct about his feelings for Michelle that simmer just below the surface.





	Rubberneck

**Author's Note:**

> Per request, this is a fic fill for spideychelle-romanogers, and it became a belated birthday fic for her <3 Her original pitch for this fic was: 
> 
> " _Oh oh_  
>  _It's like super specific I totally get if you don't want it_  
>  _It's just like an idea I had that I want to read so bad but I can ask other people if you say no you're just my favorite_  
>  _BasicallyI had this idea like_  
>  _What if Michelle and Peter have been hanging out a lot but neither of them are making moves_  
>  _So when Michelle gets asked out on a date by someone decent and says yes_  
>  _Peter gets like irrationally jealous but won't admit what_  
>  _Really the only specifics I even thought of were like_  
>  _Whatever Peter and Michele regularly do_  
>  _She has to cancel on for the date_  
>  _And she didn't tell Peter at first he just asked enough questions that it became relevant_  
>  _That's it"_  
> 

MJ Jones doesn't need a boyfriend. Or a girlfriend. Or anyone for that matter, really, because she's _smart_ , and capable, and _independent,_ and there's _no way_ she's going to play the passive, pliable, or the teen desperate for love and hanging onto paper-thin expectations conjured from mainstream romance movies, Hallmark, and Disney. She wrinkles her nose, frowns, and flips a middle finger; she knows that she _deserves_ to not be seen as a damsel, as someone to be fucking _saved_ , and she continues to sneer whenever someone like Flash Thompson makes the subtle suggestion about her attitude, or that the use of a mascara wand or a swipe of lipstick wouldn't hurt.

Michelle "MJ" Jones knows that she shouldn't listen, doesn't listen—not when she has video recording that's perfect for his blackmail.

And yet...she wants _more_. She wants, desires, _craves_. She wishes; though aloud she would always scoff at Flash. But there's a tiny murmur in her mind that contemplates if this is the one reality that Flash is actually _right_. But Michelle knows what she deserves and what she wants—she wants to adopt a cat and live in her own studio apartment, and have a six-figure salary, and take wine and cheese tasting classes, and re-watch episodes of her favorite Shonda Rhimes show, and she wants to not live with any more unneeded, uninvited, unusable stress.

Peter Parker, however—somehow—remarkably throws a wrench in her plans.

As the sickly unsullied, lubberly charming classmate sitting across from her in science class, he has, over the course of years, gradually evolved from a droning in the background to ignore, to her begrudgingly asking him to help her customize her avatar in a group chat, to helping her take moderately-decent selfies, to regularly scheduled weekend trips to the theatre with Ned and stuffing their mouths with overly buttered popcorn and highly priced candy, and she's feeling more optimistic. They're friends, sure—well, here _friends_ by definition, by technicality. They're friends who ruthlessly mock each other, and argue over the last Pringles chip, and who exchange sweaters and beanie hats. And they're the type of friends who make weekly trips to the mom-and-pop coffee shop around the corner before the bell and after school to share homework and cake; and their the type of friends who understand that burying their face in the other's shoulder during scary movies is _totally platonic_ , and of sharing lunch items, and making excuses for absences is _totally normal_. Totally friendship. Just friend things. Because Michelle sees Peter Parker just as much as she sees Ned, or Cindy, or Abe, or any of the others who come and sit to talk to her. There's nothing significant, nothing _special_. Even though Michelle's feelings of being on cloud nine is typical, she assumes, and that the butterflies are just giddiness of _platonic, friendship_ joy.

They're scheduled to go see the release of a new suspense film after a night at the fair one autumn weekend. Flash makes a comment out the side of his mouth about going at nighttime would be perfect for not needing to prep herself. Michelle sends him the sharpest side-eye in return.

Peter cancels last minute anyway, so she and Ned skip the fair.

Though she doesn't admit it, Ned's passiveness about it and the subject of Peter's tallying flakiness is starting to get to Michelle. So, starting the next meeting in school, she ignores him for four days straight, doesn't stay long at the coffee shop where they meet, only breaking the streak because he's looking up at her, his chin on the lunch table, alarmingly accurate puppy eyes _pleading_ and _guilty_ as he slides across the table a Ziploc bag of pre-made chocolate chip cookies as a peace offering. His excuse of missing is food poisoning; she knows it's shit because she'd heard him on the phone with Ned the night of the fair.

Michelle isn't some cherry-sweet, perfectly manicured model-aspiring girl who idolizes TV and Instagram and who wear full faces of makeup and straightens her hair—she usually settles for a bun or hairclip, a bandana headband on a good day, or a hat when she's very lazy. And she's very lazy.

And as Peter's absences become too frequent to _not_ notice, Michelle's equally skeptical and strict about the subject. She isn't given an answer that settles with her either, and plans to ignore him _fully_ this time when she sees him at school. But then her mind starts running away from her, and soon she's stomping down the hall to meet a disheveled Peter at his locker, and she _growls_ at him, angered at his careless bailing. There's a scratch on his upper lip, his bottom busted in a split-skin wound. But still, she steads strong and announces that she refuses to lend him the copy of her homework she knows he's missed until he gets his shit together, so don't even ask her.

Michelle had hoped that saying so would mean that he spends less of his class time skipping off to hide with whatever leech of a girl that Michelle's seen holding his hands after fourth period class, who likely has her tongue down his throat and hands everywhere, too (is what she exaggeratedly imagines). (And she's been suspicious and _cautious_ , not jealous, no.)

Instead, Peter nearly stops coming to Michelle altogether.

Four days come and go.

He's nearly kicked off the Decathlon team. It takes the begging from Ned to keep his friend on. Michelle refused to say a word during the debate.

A week comes and goes.

Her phone receives radio silence.

* * *

It's known that Michelle doesn't exactly _fit_ the beloved conditioned expectation programmed through media—she's brash and she's brazen and she's uncensored. She's punched Flash when they first met, and she's tripped him when he raises a finger to her face, taunting about her wearing lip-gloss one day in the winter. She's called a classmate out in the middle of the room, and gotten sent to the principal for wearing a #BlackLivesMatter t-shirt to gym class instead of uniform. Yet still, she takes the time to nurse a pink-accented mug while indulging in drama, and trying not to indulge on desperate brown eyes that look at her with stars. She watches YouTube makeup tutorials with Cindy but wipes it clean before leaving for home. And for the first time, one day, Michelle curses out Peter Parker in middle of science class.

It's an outburst influenced by the growing, pint-up tension about their back and forth involving her attitude, his actions, his carelessness, and her refusing to admit she's made bad calculations for their lab assignment. She curses at him aloud in the classroom, resulting in a few head turns. He goes alarmingly silent, and they didn't speak or interact for the next two weeks.

Michelle "MJ" Jones doesn't care what people have to say or criticize her for. But for some reason, she begins missing the late night texting, giggling over the phone lasting to the early morning because of stupid Vines; begins missing their outlined after-school meetings at a local coffee shop where she always steals the first bite or drink of his purchases, and she longs for the notes slid in private during History class, for her popcorn buddy and exchanging homework assignments and borrowed sweaters on particular chilly days and ridiculous absorbing large eyes that bring an optimistic flutter in her gut and, and, and, and—

Michelle realizes her mistake.

For the first time, it's her turn to apologize. She steels herself, tucks her bangs behind her double pierced diamond-studded ears and checks her reflection in a passing classroom mirror. She squares her shoulders. Takes a steadying breath. Her stomach feels like Jell-O, her heart like it's ready to burst. She swipes on a layer of glossy chapstick. Steels her shoulders. Braces her spine. Mutes her face.

* * *

Peter isn't at his locker. In fact, he hasn't been at the school at all, she's informed by Ned by fourth period class.

* * *

She sends a text message later. She doesn't get a reply. Michelle rolls over to her back in bed, an arm draping over her eyes, cellphone in the other hand, hoping it vibrates soon, and sketchbook abandoned near her pillow.

* * *

She sends another text a day later when he misses first period class. And then Ned does also when Peter doesn't show up for Decathlon practice after school, and Michelle's chest feels like it's constricted by barbed wire. She hopes for a text, a voicemail, a word-of-mouth, a Post-It, _something_.

* * *

It's the third day following that Michelle notices Peter sitting in the back of class. Her messages still haven't gotten a reply. Head down, he doesn't given an indicator of noticing her presence. When the class ends, he speeds out at the chime of the bell so she can't confront him about it.

* * *

There's a boy named Damien in Michelle's extracurricular class.

She'd gotten stuck taking Culinary And Home Ec. as a last resort, and had been assigned to a table with him to be semester partners. Their assignment today: to make "mashed potato cauliflower." Her nose wrinkles at the thought, but he just laughs.

And he laughs sincerely at her disgust and grouchiness. Michelle isn't a cook—nothing fancy, not like Damien who's brought in homemade lemon bars left over from a project. And muffins. And once, a whole cookie pie.

Michelle and Damien are paired for the rest of the school year. He's joyous, she finds, and he laughs, smiles generously and often. He's also very helpful, especially when Michelle characteristically, unfathomably, nearly _destroys_ their simple dishes. She's grateful but she doesn't persist.

* * *

There are twice more that Michelle attempts to confront Peter. Once is in the hallway, but he speeds out, walking too fast for her to catch up, and he's wearing headphones. The second time had been in science class, but he's picked a seat in the back and there were no empty ones around. The day, students are assigned lab partners by the teacher; Michelle gets a talkative girl who doesn't share her name. Peter gets a pale-skinned brunette wearing a pink halter and cardigan, Michelle notices, and she's _pretty_ , Michelle thinks. And to make it worse, toward the girl, Michelle sees Peter's _smiling_.

Michelle doesn't get to ask about it, because after class, him and Pink Cardigan are off, chattering. It's no longer about classwork because the girl giggles, flaunts, flirts.

It happens for several days straight. And Michelle blinks, watches, swallows, biting her lip and wringing the ends of her sweater in anxiety. And when Peter smiles, in the direction to the girl, Michelle's chest plummets.

And so, Michelle changes her viewpoints and her objectives.

* * *

Her phone receives silence. Her text messages to Peter have been _read_ , she sees.

Pink Cardigan hurries after him after class too often. And so, Michelle keeps her head down.

She changes her target, her desires, and works on her heart.

And before long, Damien's laugh becomes a nice ring to Michelle's ears.

* * *

She leaves Peter a voicemail message on the second day after no contact.

_Heyyy Peter. So. Listen. I was a shit—what I did—said back there, it... It wasn't called for. I know. And I know it happened, like, two weeks ago. But you've, like, gone completely m.i.a...and you won't answer my texts, so—but I... I just want to apologize for being a bitch to you. Really. Sooo...text me sometime?_

* * *

His reply comes silently—he's sitting with them again, suddenly, the next day at lunch. No explanation, no excuses. This time, it's Michelle who shyly slides four sugar cookies wrapped in plastic along the table.

* * *

They're friends now, finally. Thankfully. Happily.

It flows normally, until Michelle disrupts their routine coffee trips. He stands, confused, because it had been _their_ thing, but he sees her walk in Thursday morning alongside Cindy, laughing, each holding a cup in hand, and he wonders if there was something he'd done wrong. She tells him that there wasn't anything, but there's a nagging at the back of his skull.

Peter doesn't notice it at first, the gradual change, but he picks up immediately when she continually gives excuses to avoid their regularly scheduled trips before and after school—from she _has to talk to a teacher_ , to she _has to meet with a friend_ , to she _made a promise to study for a different class that day_ , to she _just can't today Peter_ , to she _has something to attend to and not be late_ , to she _has a prior engagement_ , to _this_ and _that_ and _more reasons_. (He wants to speak up on it, but when he began to, once, Michelle shrugged, tossing back the fact that he and Pink Cardigan had become close, always sharing answers and hearty laughter, so Michelle _assumed_.) And very soon, he's sharing slices of coffee cakes and chai with himself, wishing there was a silent fight for the last morsel, for someone to complain with, for someone to stare at as the sun begins to set and the light turns her hair into a halo of liquid gold.

But they're _just friends_ , he knows. He frets. He remembers, wistfully, as he'll swallow and his stomach tips and sinks.

Peter tried to ask her about it, once. But his eyes got to large and his heart too flitting, and he could only think and speak in static.

* * *

It flows normally, and Peter does his best to acquaintance his time with Michelle. They share history class and lunch together, and on a good day he'll get her to laugh. And on an even better day, she'll let him hug her tight and long, like before, like she told him she liked in a private whisper, and he'll get a whiff of cocoa butter or shea butter on her skin.

On the worse day, however—

The worse day was when Peter's comfortable friendship is _disrupted_ the day they pull away from a hug with his head resting in her neck, when she looks over his head, and gave a smile to a boy approaching. It's a different smile, Peter noticed, a peculiar one that's _different_ than the ones she's started giving him now. It's the smile that brightened his day, that turned his insides out, and his fingers fidget with aspiration, his hands sweat with desperation.

On the worse day, Peter found out that Michelle's smile is no longer for him.

* * *

They've stopped their coffee shop meetings altogether. They now only ever talk in school.

* * *

During Gym, one guy comes from behind another classmates, pulls his shirt over his head, while a second guy in front pulls his pants down. Then the first guy in front pushes the student over and many in the gym start laughing. Luckily, the student doesn't trip. Unluckily, he's wearing Fruit of the Loom boxers that are pointed at and jeered at. Peter rubs his chest and begins stepping forward to confront the bullies, but the coach has them and is ordering them to the dean's office.

They lie about not getting in trouble and that the dean refused to do anything because he "didn't know who exactly did it." Turns out that they get in-school detention for two and a half weeks. It's rumored that one's parents pulled up, angry, in a Cadillac convertible and practically dragged one of the bullies by his ear.

One who Peter caught snickering in the back had been some guy he's begun seeing Michelle walking with in between classes. For all he knows, the two share a class. But from what Peter's heard, the guy is awesome—he's smart, sure, but he can _cook_ too, allegedly. And he's Asian and tall, taller than Michelle, even; Peter gets discouraged. And he's far cooler than Peter "runs on 140mph chatter nonstop" Parker could ever be, and the guy is _handsome_.

* * *

Michelle's already heard about it, she tells, when it slips out in conversation two days later. She's heard it from _Damien_ from _Culinary class_. She's also heard—that day of, and from _Damien_ —that the two guys were nearly suspended. She's talked about _Damien_ often—or, as often as Michelle does, with as private as she is. Peter frowns. Michelle's phone chimes for the sixth text in the last five minutes. And then with Peter leaning on her shoulder, teasing about how she's "popular," it's told that she's had Damien's number for nearly four weeks now. And they've been texting off and on. During school and out of school. Have hung out while he's ditching soccer practice and she's waiting for a ride.

"You text him when you're texting us?" Michelle is asked, and she squints, picking up the brushstroke of a wound in Peter's tone.

"Yeah, I have." She shrugs. "Even with you. So?"

* * *

Peter isn't the jealous type, he believes.

He assures.

He _swears_.

But whenever Peter sees Damien, he frowns. And whenever Peter sees him _with_ Michelle, Peter scowls. And when Peter catches glimpse of the other's name on her caller ID, he sneers.

Damien joins them at lunch now, and sits next to Michelle. He'll laugh and joke with the rest of them, but Peter doesn't join in. Once, he did, but that turned into a passive aggressive grilling and metaphorically measuring dicks that ended with tension all around and Michelle hissing with clenched teeth and Peter leaving with his head bowed. The other time, when properly introduced, Peter might have _accidentally_ sent him to the nurse's for a wounded wrist. The best of the time are snide comments spoken out the side of his mouth.

And when he sees Damien lean in _too close_ for his liking in order to whisper in Michelle's ear, Peter bristles. And when sees Damien put his arm around Michelle's shoulders, Peter _boils_.

* * *

The problem with this is—

There's a lot of problems, actually.

The _problem_ with this relationship is the lack thereof. At least, from Peter's perspective.

The problem is Michelle's tight lips and her pride, of her fear of rejection and her insecurity; it's in the way Peter continues, almost defiantly giving her warm, constrictor-tight hugs and offers the last bites of his sweets and the sun-bright smile he gives when she walks in the room, or from their talks, or from her backlashes to Flash, or _anything_ she does, really, because he's just as gone as she is but he's so damn _self-effacing_. He beats around the bush. He beats around the bush and he's never direct—at least, not without the expense of some thinly veiled joke or quip or sarcastic remark. Peter beats around the bush and he kicks himself in the ass for it, because it's the same thing he'd done with Liz Allan-Toomes, and when telling his aunt the truth of his alter ego over a year before. Peter beats around the bush about his feelings for Michelle that simmer just below the surface on high temperature.

It's gotten so bad that Flash and Charles would stick out their tongues in a mocking gag whenever Peter and Michelle hold a gaze that's longer than three seconds—aside from the prolonged moments when Peter's obviously gawking, of course.

It gets rather bad.

And he's got it bad. _Nauseatingly_ bad. _Steals-his-breath-away_ bad when he sees her with snowflakes dusting her hair and the cold reddening her face. _Knocks-him-off-his-feet_ bad when he meets up with her and Ned every other weekend that he does cancel, which are beginning to be less and less. _Kick-himself-in-the-face_ bad when he listens to her rant to him about his continuous bailing, that if he didn't want to hang out with her then to just _tell_ her. And he feels guilty about it, promises that he'll make it up to her that Saturday. (It takes two weeks until that happens.) He's got it _walk-into-a-pole_ bad when he notices her wearing a brush of glittery eye makeup one day, and—lipstick? _Slap-himself-silly_ bad when she suddenly begins cancelling on _him_ for their friendly outings; she starts texting him less frequently and Peter _panics_. _Twists-your-heart_ and _wrenches-your-gut_ bad when he tells that he saw her talking to another guy after school one day right before she reveals that she has a date with that same guy on the day they and Ned and another friend were to go to a small concert downtown. Peter doesn't find out immediately, only when he continued making sly comments and questions that danced around the actual subject.

Peter's got it _crawl-in-a-deep-hole-and-die_ bad when he finds out that the guy in question is Damien.

And later at home, he highly considers doing just that.

* * *

As the sleek, sour, inexplicably bumbling owner of carrying one of the most monumentous responsibilities on his young shoulders, Peter has, over the short years, gradually gone from being a drone Michelle ignores to become a hook, line, and her sinker, to angrily eating through a pack of Chips Ahoy cookies and begrudging helping her finish a poem in a crudely made birthday card. She's terrible at gifts and guessed this would suffice. Though when Peter wants to leave, she reminds him that he promised—for reason exactly, he's still questioning himself for; he's moping, and she pays no mind—but when she asks of his opinion about a pretty lace tank under a cardigan, he has to remember that they're friends, and the pendant hanging between her breasts he'd given her with the excuse that it was _only_ for her birthday, nothing more, and that it didn't hold any additional emotion. _He_ doesn't have any additional emotion. They're friends. Nothing more than friends. Friends with shitty timing and a city-full of interruptions. Friends who can't build a model volcano but can successfully tag-team to Saran Wrap Flash's car on April Fools. Friends who ruthlessly mock each other's shortcomings and fails in class and their own ultimate _disasters_ , some caught on video camera at every available opportunity. Friends whose scheduled movie nights end, and a friend who have made his pulse race erratic for years that result in lingering touches and gazes that don't mean a damn thing.

 _Those_ kinds of friends.

Michelle's phone goes off while Peter is still at her residence.

Damien has a _car_ , Peter finds out rather late. Also that he's on his way to Michelle's.

And because Damien likes _intellectuals_ with frizzy, wavy hair and too many frumpy hoodies to count, who have a bad habit of getting caught up in the moment and becoming emotional and preaching—like impulsively joining a Zumba group only to quit unannounced a day later, or for taking spontaneous detour trips off path that once resulted in her stumbling on a wedding and catching the bouquet.

And because Damien likes all these things too, Peter is bitter. He bites his lip and bites his tongue and doesn't look the other in the eyes for too long because there will be bitterness and _fear_ , if he's to ever be honest about it (he's not) because those were all _his_ things first.

Still, even he couldn't have predicted Michelle running from her bathroom to the front door wearing eyeliner and mascara, a small bag looped around her shoulder. She looks _excited_. Peter feels sick.

She'd been preparing to hang out, she tells him for the first time, but it's not on a _date_.

Impulsively, Peter cries _too loudly,_ " _seriously?_ " Scowls at her sharp, returning glare.

She doesn't quite understand. "Why are you so pressed about _my_ plans when they suddenly don't involve you?"

And there's no good comeback for that.

Peter heaves. Sighs. Shoves two more cookies in his mouth before marching out after her, exiting her front home. He gives superhuman embrace, and a glare. It lowers. Frowning, Michelle mutters, " _boys_ ," rolling her eyes. Damien shoves his throbbing hand in his back pocket.

Peter tightens his jaw. He's to walk home, he tells her, only, and insists to be alone further when she offers a ride on Damien's behalf. Peter lies, telling the several stops he's having to make on the way.

Michelle squints. He knows that she doesn't believe him.

* * *

That night, the moon had been high and round and a blurry, patchy silvery-white drifting in and out behind the clouds, Michelle tells that following week in school. Damien wraps an insistent hand around hers. Michelle tries not to flinch away on impulse. The air had been warm that night, too, a humid kind of heat after a rain that seeps slow and easy to the bones. And the movie had been good, she tells. "It'd been _great_ ," Damien adds. Those around her smile; her friends think it's cute. Michelle fidgets with her watch. Sees the few friends of hers around, except Peter.

It's going on a month streak that this has happened, and he's yet again a deliberate no-show.

A sharp, pristine emotion twinkles in her gut. He's been absent since her "not-date" on Friday.

She catches him on the way to fourth period history class, in the middle of the day.

"Hey, dude! Where've you been?" She calls as she does a little jog to catch up, getting straight to the point.

As soon as his sight sets, registers on her, Michelle catches the change—it's small and subtle, but he slows, dulls, deflates. He waits for her, head down. Doesn't speak.

They continue the walk. "Didn't see you this morning. I thought we were going to do some homework before class."

He only shrugs.

A brow rises. "You've been acting weird," she states.

Again, he shrugs.

"What's wrong with you, Peter?"

"Nothing."

There he goes, being short with her. She tells him this, and, "what's your problem? You've been acting like a dick...especially to Damien, and have ben m.i.a. for, like, _weeks_. So what's your deal?"

"Its not...! It's nothing, Michelle," he hisses, and she stops at the name. He never uses her full name.

This does nothing to ease her concern. And they sit through class in silence. Periodically, she'll gaze at him, but Peter watches the front of the room intently, a tight jaw, and alarmingly still hands—no pen drumming, little fidgeting. He doesn't even glance in her direction.

It's after the bell that she approaches him. He'll most likely disappear at the end of the day, she knows, and voices this, taking the only moment she'll likely have. So, she pulls him aside into an empty lab room to confront him. And so, she voices her disapproval—about how he doesn't text, doesn't answer, how he's abandoned Decathlon practice, doesn't sit with their friends at lunch, and no longer meets outside of school. When she does see him, it's like he doesn't know her. She still has his sweater lent a month ago. And right now he can't meet her eyes.

Peter doesn't give an answer when she finishes.

She plants her foot and demands one.

Then there's a silence. The late bell will be ringing soon. He uses that as an excuse but she's insistent.

Finally, he gives. "I, um," Peter says, gingerly caressing the ends of his sleeves. "I wanted to talk to you about something. Or, like, ask you."

Michelle folds her arms, sneaked a glance at her bare thighs. Brows rise in expectance.

He takes a breath. "Yeah," he goes, wryly, a muscle working in his jaw. He looks nervous. "I, uh... I just—wanted to ask—and it's—fine, it's _more_ than fine, even, if you don't—anymore—if you'd..." He's rubbing his palms together. Laughs a little. It's nerves.

"What is it?"

"It's just...that...you... You know. You did—did you used to...?."

"Did what?" She's very confused.

"I just—it's—" Stops. Breaths. "You kissed him—and the date. And I just thought that after—after—since last year, I thought you—" His hands are gesturing wildly, from himself to her to the air, and back again.

Michelle's face crinkles. And slowly, it smooths as she realizes.

As Peter's hands slow, he stares at a smudge on his sneaker, still as a statute.

Michelle's lips part. He'd seen her and Damien kiss, she registers, and that—to _Peter—_ that was—

She doesn't ask him for how long it's been, remembering all the time she's spent in his shoes. Instead, she says, "you haven't tried to—do anything. With me. Not since we met. Not since after homecoming—especially."

Peter's mouth goes dry. "You, uh, you were pretty clear about...not wanting me to... Do anything. Try anything...with you."

She makes an impatient sound in the back of her throat. "That was _before_."

He prods at a scab on his lower lip the tip of his tongue. "Before what?"

"Before you started treating me like a tagalong instead of a—a—a— _god!_ "

"Tagalong," he repeats, and he doesn't quite manage to conceal how _offended_ he suddenly feels. "That's what you thought was going on?"

She frowns. "Wasn't it? I was just _a weird friend_ to you?"

"Maybe," he admits, because he's a lot of things, not all of them as awesome as she probably deserves, but he's not a _liar_. "But—it's like—that was _before_."

She knits her fingers together and jiggles her legs side to side. "Before what?"

He hesitates.

But then he shifts, slightly. Stands a bit straighter. Raises his eyes to study her face—her features—and she's always so much _softer_ than he expects her to be. "I like you, Michelle," he says, because he does.

A smile trembles, vanishes before it can fully show. "Yeah, I—I got that."

"I still like you—like- _like_ you. I really do. A lot," he says, because he does.

"I—oh."

And suddenly, he's so much mire vulnerable than he usually is, than he thought _she_ is. And, he thinks, that maybe she isn't. He slides his fingers to curl around hers, unmoving, at her side, and then quietly confesses, "But _why_ I like you a lot—it doesn't—has nothing to do with Damien—but it's just—and it's been for a _long time now_  that I've liked you and I just—"

He feels her go still, feels her breath stall and stutter, feels how her fingers curl and break away and her lips part, catch, drag along harsh words that she almost didn't hope to say—

She tilts her chin down. "Sorry, Peter. We're going to graduate soon, anyway, and I'm with Damien now. ...Because—because he didn't—he doesn't—"

Because he doesn't wait, Peter knows she wants to say. Because he doesn't put off for over two fucking years until the very last minute to tell a girl that he likes her. Because Damien is _sure_ and he's confident and he doesn't have things monumentally blow up in his face.

Peter ducks his head down. His knees feel like ice.

The late bell rings. A few minutes later, their stares are able to meet halfway.

**Author's Note:**

> Tell me how much you either hate or like this in the comments <3


End file.
